Yesterday the invitation arrived
Drawing me to Dr. Homburger
And his hospital in America.
Tomorrow I sail to Boston in search
Of my hands.

Forty years ago I painted with Braque at l'Estaque.
The cubist edges cut too deep into my palette
And I joined Matisse and became a Fauve.
I covered my canvases only with the colors that I could feel
Avoiding those that I could see.
Unsatisfied I traveled to Munich, Normandy, Marseille
Saw the terrible women of Avignon
And found myself on the Riviera in Vence.

Fifteen years ago the attacks began.
Disfiguring my hands
As if I were painting with leaden gloves.
I sought gold
Injections. Underwent spinal manipulations
And made a pilgrimage to a Spanish spa.
Yet my hands drew
Still.
I continued studies in my mind
Waiting for the time
When my brush could be awakened
To decorate the canvas
With arabesques and flourishes.
I have long tried to capture

The motion of race horses and regattas
The movements of the orchestra
As musicians chase the notes
In concertos of yellow and red.
I have painted Electricity
With dynamos and electrons moving at the speed of light.
Craving more speed I released my canvases
To color silk scarves and dresses
And finally saw my work sail with the wind.
Now my hands are splinted
And I have become disjointed
An old man whose hands will not obey his heart.

Rheumatism loosened Renoir's brush from his grasp
And his son bound the bristles to the hollow of his hand.
But Dr. Perles has assured me
That the new remedy, cortisone and ACTH,
Will release the bonds
Of the arthritis that have held me in place.
My only wish to draw freehand
Following the wind
Flowers that beckon me
And capturing them
In a vase of Anemones.
The speaker of the poem, Raoul Dufy, was treated for rheumatoid arthritis by Dr. Homburger from April to July 1950.